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Serpentis Resurgence - Ehrendill Eyolf Serpentis

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Eduardo Almighty:
The Day of Divinity

Awake.
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and choose the sign of your day
The day's divinity
Choose they croon the Ancient Ones
The time has come again

***


--- Quote ---From the Avamarian diaries

Tomas: Have you found a name for her, my Lady?

Rugina smiles and Nods, the ideas screening in her mind.

Rugina: My child... you will be remembered as one in Sirion... and you will have the name of one of my favorite Holy matrons.
Yur will be called Serria Sirion Blakeshadow, my little one."
--- End quote ---

***


--- Quote ---From New Westmoor Archives

Duke Erik Eyolf after just building the largest temple in the north for some dirty pagan religion is holding an extravagant wedding celebration to consummate the love between himself and his daughter Serria.

The wedding festivities which began yesterday are said to be very extravagant. Now of course most of the representatives of the southern realms will not be able to be present due to the war between Caligus, Sirion and the human alliance. Duke Erik has therefore undertaken to take criminals out of the jails of Avamar for the day and dress them up to look like nobles of the southern realms who weren't able to be present. The vast temple is considered to be a wedding gift to his new bride. Many congratulations were given from members of many different realms in the ECDA. According to some traders who were recently in Sirion city the smell of Ikrif could be recognized quite noticeably in the air even though the city of Avamar was several hundred miles away.
--- End quote ---

***

Ehrendill climbed on a rock and looked at the old motte and bailey where once the towering Dragon's Nest spread its wings over Trinbar. How in such a short time had everything been lost? Trinbar, Dolmbar, the Sacred Grove and finally even the Republican spirit. Sirion's history was there for anyone who wanted to see, but now it looked like something artificial, lost in time, just odes to forgotten heroes. Where were the real Sirionites and their heirs? Why had they abandoned their legacy? Why did they stand still while Nivemus took command of the north? Why had they stayed behind? How did they almost lose everything to their guests after offer them a banquet?

The young dragon looked the other way where the raven was being "escorted" by two Stormwalkers. His mission now was to restore the family and mend the mess the bastards had caused while a heir of pure blood was prepared. And who could have the blood more pure than Ehrendill, son of Erik and Serria, grandson of Rugina. His was the mission of restoring the Sirionites values for which his ancestors fought. He jumped from the stone and walked to the traitor. His eyes were placid and there was no anger in his countenance. No grudge, but also no mercy. The metallic fingers of his gauntlet caressed the human skin on his face.

Ehrendill Eyolf: “You betrayed me, brother. Your mission was to prepare the way; instead you tried to usurp what belongs to me: my name and my legacy. You should know that when the Black Dragon spared the Thousand Bastards. In the meantime you found a Princess and dared to dream of greatnesses reserved only for the true Serpentis. You probably didn’t like to see another Serpentis in Sirion, am I right? Sir Hector have only a portion of our blood, more than you, less than I do. Then you flew like a frightened crow and in your flight you distracted yourself with something bright in Highmarch. They're so much better than Sirion these days, aren’t they?”

He smiled and kissed the traitor's forehead as his hand slid into his pocket, picking up the relic that so many bastards longed for, Erik’s left eye.

Ehrendill Eyolf: “It’s my time now, fallen brother. From now on, I’m your Alfather. Just as I am son of his daughter, you’re now my children under my wings. If at least one thing you did right, we're going to visit your Princess. Despite what you tried to do for her, despite your false sacrifices for Sirion and your cries of rebellion... she did the right thing while you went the wrong way. We, the Serpentis, owe it to her. Poor boy, I wonder how much you fell in love with her. Good friends you still can be. Lovers, maybe. Slave, if so she chooses. Your future belongs to her. You're in her hands as you've always been, but now I'll make sure you do not break your vows.”

The young elf closed his eyes and saw in the darkness the pattern of the flames casting their red dancing lights. An open field burned, the hounds barking and the Gormok's Hunters imprisoning, confiscating, choking the taunts of rebellion. Like the Flockhart and Fleisher, one day they were there, in the other they were just another page turned into Sirion's annals. He opened his eyes and graciously ordered the men to march to Sirion. His journey was just beginning.

Eduardo Almighty:
Crime and Punishment
Theater of Tragedy - On Whom The Moon Doth Shine

Ehrendill had sent his two field heralds to announce his arrival at Avamar. In the city, in its alleys, docks and old districts, restless bastards finished their activities earlier and prepared for the meeting that awaited them in the afternoon. The Crow had brought hope, amusement, a near relevance again. The parties, the plots and small conspiracies. For a few weeks they felt like the nobles, sharing their intrigues and their little luxuries. As soon as the sun began to leave behind the western clouds and the moon began to gain its spectral majesty, a procession of lighted torches meandered through the outermost fields of the city, through the cracked walls of Honor and Glory with the names of defeated enemies already worn by time. Through the decrepit statues, advancing to the ruins of huge temple, they gathered themselves. The great family of bastards made their circle of prayers and sacred chants, trying to calm hearts awed by the fear of what the future would bring upon them on dragon's wings.

The Stormwalkers made their way through the crowd, paving the way for their Lord, forming a smaller inner circle with their black robes and black shields with stylized lightning bolts. That particular night, they wore coarse wooden masks to cover their identities, their hands on the sword’s hilts like harbingers of carnage. The crowd shuddered with the memories of the Purge Night in which Dürion had ordered that in all Sirionite territory, in some cases beyond the borders, that the improper and undesirable bastards were hunted and killed by ghosts dressed in Westmorian dead skin. When the moon reached its summit above the ruins, the neighing of the stallion announced the most anticipated arrival of the night. The impatient animal snorted and beat the front hooves on the cracked stones of the once decorated pavement. The squire held the reins and helped Ehrendill dismount. The young Serpentis was dressed with a light armor and a red cape tied to his pauldron covered his right flank, almost like an angel of a single bloody wing. He passed solemnly through the two circles and stood before the feet of a ruined statue, looking aroud at his soldiers and his people; his great family.

The silence wave reigned almost absolute, agitated only by the flames crackling. They held their breath, the fear of drowning tightening their hearts. From the darkness, two Stormwalkers brought the prisoner, head down in silent shame and wrists crossed at his back. No chains or shackles, just ephemeral fetters forged of pure and heavy sorrow. It was the meeting of two princes, one with a silver circlet, full in his glory. The other with a black turban, broken, shattered, torned apart by the judicious eyes of his family. The soldiers stopped two steps back and left the brothers facing each other. Like in the first meeting, Ehrendill advanced and took the traitor's face in his hands, kissing his cheeks and forehead. The prisoner's lips twitched and the elf turned his face so he could whisper in his ear.

Hrafn: “I’m Erik Eyolf Serpentis… how dare you…”

A slap reddened the raven's face, burning in his ruined character. A spontaneous act, not a proper aggression, but a pull to the very surface of reality. Ehrendill didn’t say a word. After the slap, he began undressing Hrafn. First the turban, then the regalia. He even knelt to take off his boots before getting up again to loosen his belt and let his pants fall off. The sultan was naked as in the children's tales. Hrafn trembled in the cold wind that whipped his skin until his brother waved and a Stormwalker covered him with his black cape. The ritual of ostracism demanded that impetuous and solemn silence. Words did not have to be said, for Hrafn would never hear their voice again. He must keep his eyes on the ground, for he was no longer allowed to look at his family. He was alone now. No clan or lineage was allowed to reach out for help. Hrafn wanted to cry and beg. Without his family, he was a nobody. He wanted to fall to his knees, grab his brother's cape and cry like a child hoping a helping hand would console his black hair. None of this happened. He stood there, empty.

The circle opened and Hrafn finally gained some impetus to walk barefoot in the cold, following the road that led out of Avamar... out of Sirion. His wings were broken, his past cursed and in his future, an outcast. A pariah tempted to look back. Ostracized and banned, he walked in shame until disappear into the darkness. His name would be erased from official documents. Hrafn Skovgaard didn’t exist anymore.

Eduardo Almighty:
Dream On
Preparations for a New Year

(Especially for Lady Bellatix, Lady Lilith and Lady Sigrid)

Ehrendill had settled in Avamar, his father's ‘capital’. Unlike his predecessor, he preferred to set up a humble tent where the great temple once stood, from which he could easily walk to the Academy, preferably through the temple of the Church of Humanity: to see the work of a defeated people in Avamar was the type of insult Ecthelion liked to swallow in the name of his cultural diversity. Perhaps it was not so offensive if the old man had the dignity of not letting the Sirionite religion die in the process. These were daily mental reminders that the young elf was forced to have so that one day, perhaps, he himself could be the agent of change. Bringing back the pride of the past was the first step, obviously after rehousing all the traitors, usurpers and conspirators who had been celebrating the absence of an identity in their favor. Again, it was impossible not to think that Ecthelion had sold Sirion for Oligarch. While Erik had conquered Sirion, the old man had to bring defeated enemies, incorporate them into his court and beg for their support to be able to rule again by having his majority of votes guaranteed within the Council - and that's how Sirion ended up with a Westmorian as Prime Minister.

Patience was the key for a good start. Knowing his new people and letting them know him was vital. That was his goal in the early days, training in the Academy, preparing himself for the battlefield. Like his father, tradition led him to search for the Dames and Ladies of the Sirion: Erik had trusted them and they had not failed him -- except when he accepted them by impositions of other men, like he did with Celine and Giselle. Ehrendill wanted to see them up close, especially a certain princess. He wanted to see how they moved and danced with their swords, for his grandmother was Rugina Blakeshadow, the Sword-Dancer. So, he invited them to old plaza where his two young squires were plucking the weeds between the cracked stones. He waited for them, undaunted in his light armor and fearless with his practice sword. There was something profoundly solemn about the young elf, almost like the arrogance of a dragon looking at everyone from above. Which was interesting because he was inevitably polite and humble in dealing with people. There were no evident raptures in his character; everything seemed always under control in his expression and in his measured movements. This might seem lacking in passion, but his eyes, that amalgam of greyish green and blue, were like a dam ever about to overflow. Like his father and mother, he was undoubtedly beautiful, a classic beauty who acted through graceful movements. However, as they would come to discover, he was not perfect. They would find flaws in his dance, for he was still young and inexperienced.

Ehrendill Eyolf: “I'll tell you this... No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.”

Eduardo Almighty:
Oathkeeper
Some days ago...

There was a time that Avamar was the rebellious younger sister, her Black Hand threatening Sirion. Then there was a time of reconquest and a time when Avamar flourished as the greatest duchy of Sirion, her wings spread over Krimml and Oligarch. As a kind mother, she was good to those who served her. As a goddess she found her god in a Silver Dragon and, for a while, the world smiled, sang and danced with joy. Her womb shed virtues from which sprang their sons and daughters; as profuse as the stars in the night sky.

Ehrendill was one of those children, a rising star. His throne had been raised on a platform where the altar of Retarte had once been. Around him the Stormwalkers formed an inner circle and another wider circle of vassals lit the night with their torches. Those were the days and nights of transition, of end and beginning. Erik used to celebrate the holidays in this period, celebrating the gods and his own conquests, but those who came after him did not respect what he had built, letting the veil of oblivion cover the city, but the people remembered. They were going to celebrate, but first they needed to swear their oath to the new Serpentis in power, a legitimate son of royal blood. Seven leaders from seven houses, a thousand bastards represented there to offer their loyalty. The first was a beautiful red-haired woman covered in a tunic that seemed woven with silver threads by a thousand spinning spiders, her generous and inviting breasts wrapped in seductive perfume.

Moira: “I’m Moira, Daughter of Avamar, Valide Sultan of Erik Eyolf Serpentis and High Priestess of Retarte. This oath is the oath we all swear. Not to a god, or a master, or to the House Serpentis... but to our sisters who stand here with us. Our sisters. This is the oath that binds us all, one to one, all to all, so that we are no longer free. We belong to each other. We are bound to each other. In swearing to each other, we free ourselves from the outside world, from the world of men, from those who would seek to bind us to Fate and that which would make us slaves. We sacrifice our liberty so that, ultimately, we can be truly free.”

Moira represented the women of Avamar, whether they were the concubines of the Harems, the whores of the Red District or the priestesses of Retarte. She was the first, for women were always in the first place in Erik's life, whether by the influence of his mother or his grandmother, always in a powerful matriarchal family tradition. The second was a man with a green cloak, a necklace of flowers and herbs and a crown of vines with deer's horns.

Belenus: “I’m Belenus, Son of the Forest, Grand Druid of Dolmbar. I offer you my oath and if I break this it, may the beauty and wonder of the Divines forever remain hidden from me.”

The third was a herald and bureaucrat; his dark blue vest gave him an image of serious dignity. If Belenus meant the nature of the forests of Sirion's heart, this man was the symbol of the city's bureaucracy, the administrative life behind a table between papers and stamps; for such a large family, records were vital.

Arnulf: “I, Arnulf, Imperial of Krimml, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of Sirion against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the Princeps of Krimml and the orders of the officers appointed over me.”

The next in line was a man in a white and silver robe and a white scarf tied by a black aghal imitating a snake. He approached and prostrated himself in the typical reverence of his people, the first words coming out of his lips in a strange tongue, words sung like a nightingale's.

Abd Al-Karim: “I’m Abd Al-Karim from the Asenian Iron Wolves. Call the people towards the Alfather. Persuade and guide them. Your position will be raised day by day and it will continue ‘till eternity because this is the eternal order of the Lord. I’m ready to obey all your orders.”

Abd barely had time to step back politely and a tall and robust man passed by him bumping shoulders. As a captain, he wore full armor - except for the helmet. His gaze showed contempt for his distant relative. There was hatred and disagreement even within the family and this was understandable and justifiable. Ehrendill rose from the throne and the warrior knelt down.

Ehrendill Eyolf: “Step forward, Captain Wealdmær, son of the Impetuous Swords of Elune's Wrath, and swear by the gods of Sirion, the names of your ancestors, and your own honor an unbreakable oath that you will follow your commander wherever he may lead you. You will obey orders enthusiastically and without question. You relinquish the protection of the Sirionite civil law and accept the power of your commander to put you to death without trial for disobedience or desertion. You promise to serve under the standards  for your allotted time of duty and not to leave before your commander discharges you. You will serve Sirion faithfully, even at the cost of your life, and will respect the law with regards to civilians and your comrades in camp. Congratulations. You are now a Captain of Sirion!"

Wealdmær: "I swear that I will not leave my comrades for fear or for flight, and will not quit the ranks save to fetch or pick up a weapon, to strike an enemy, or to save a comrade!"

That parade of oaths and sacraments was as diverse as the physical traits of those who offered them. Erik had been very eclectic in his choices and not all of them descended directly from him; the Impetuous Swords descended directly from Captain Karl, but like many bloodlines, lineages, clans and minor branches, they were adopted and incorporated under the Serpentis name, all of them with the same right to claim heritage. Now they relinquished this power and offered their loyalty to a Serpentis of pure blood, incestuously pure blood. In a new contrast, Wealdmær was replaced by a beautiful oriental woman in a black and red kimono.

Hoshiko: “I’m Hoshiko from the Lion’s Den, the Raionzu states in Trinbar. Our oath is your, young prince. Whether advancing or retreating, we shall not flee. We will follow our master’s orders and endure every hardship until our return. If our master engages in battle we shall never leave his side or escape. We will not break the above promises. If my oath be broken I shall receive punishment from the thirty gods. This includes all equivalent gods and attendant gods. If my oath be broken I shall not enter the afterlife.”

Ehrendill Eyolf: “General Ryu is with us, we’ll never fail…”

The young elf was ready to sit down again and the people were all returning to their places when the last emissary approached timidly. Eifion was more foreign than all of them and in different ways. He was he representing the forgotten monks of Akesh Temple, the children lost in distant lands, the adventurers and those who everyone coarsely called "Erikrims", a mockery with the people who worshiped Atanamir. He knelt, his eyes always fixed on the ground. Like Hrafn, he had the weight of exile and mockery on his shoulders, but unlike the raven, he never deserved that scorn. His voice failed to issue any kind of oath. So, Ehrendil approached him and laid a benevolent hand on his head.

Ehrendill Eyolf: “The time of humiliations is over. All of Erik's children, Sirionites or not, are our brothers and sisters. They deserve no less or more of our love and compassion. Your name is Eifion, right!? From today you are under my protection. You will be my scribe. Through you the world will receive my word. Everything you need will be given or taught to you. May the world know that we do not abandon our own blood!”

Nesrah, the sage, approached the two and turned to the audience. He had also received his punishment, but had been accepted back home. There was a strange resignation in his in his countenance.

Nesrah: “His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth! May the new age of Sirion begin today at the hands of its true heir!”

The general outcry took and burned the old ruins under the moonlight. At least for those sacred nights they would celebrate the past, the present and the glorious future that was promised to them.

Eduardo Almighty:
Monster Hunter
The locals are grateful for defeating the evil forces plaguing their region.

The routine of the early military career in Sirion had come at a bad time for Ehrendill. With the creation of a new colony and the traditional celebrations of Avamar, the young elf spent most of his days in the Academy and in training matches, trying to stop being so amateur with the swords. The general refit was near, but without experience he couldn’t recruit better troops or increase the numbers, it would be pure waste of gold and time. He needed some action, real action. So, the monsters came in good time.

With just over thirty still inexperienced Stormwalkers, he marched from Avamar to Limbar on his way to Flismar. This was not just a campaign of liberation and hunting, but it was also vital for him to introduce himself to Sirion, to the common people, as the true heir of the Serpentis’ legacy. Then he rode ahead in his finest armor, exhibiting himself mainly in Limbar, a region that had belonged to Avamar for a long time, an affront to Duke Ecthelion. With Trinbar under Dürion’s power, displease the Black Dragon was always a danger of being imprisoned in Sirion with the duchy isolated, prisoner of the dragons who guarded the front, just watching them expanding Avamar city after city.

In Flismar the local hunters had indicated where the monsters had taken refuge in a clearing after devouring some unfortunate villagers. Ehrendill knew immediately that these would not be customary battles. There would be no shield wall advancing in perfect lines following specific orders played by the banners, so he waited for the moment when the shadows loomed over the woods and separated the Stormwalkers into smaller units, as was customary in the Silver Legion rankings. Two vanguard groups would pass unnoticed by the monsters and set the path for the rest to advance along the flanks until they can form a circle closing around the glade. The soldiers' black robes helped and they were forced to remember life before training, but they were slowly closing the circle as planned. The smell was terrible and three huge, terrible monsters were tearing apart a poor dead villager, one sucking the marrow of a broken bone. It was easy to see why the elves called the ancient Oligarch people of Orcs at the sight of those monsters -- just as the humans used propaganda against the elves, so had they compared the Oligarchians to monsters, to demonize them and make the killing easier.

With a wave the soldiers began to advance, leaving the trees behind, slowly trying to put shield against shield on a circular wall. Ehrendill did not intend to let the monsters escape to hunt them down through the forest. Only three monsters, but taller than men. Their claws sharp like daggers and their fangs would make a wolf wince. When they noticed the soldiers surrounding them, a guttural scream echoed from their bestial throats and they advanced, each in a different direction trying to break the circle. Each blow was like that of a warhammer, but as the circle closed, the soldiers instinctively deepened the lines, some with two soldiers, some place with even three men of depth. When one was injured, the companion would pull him back and take the lead. Instead of swords, spears nudged the thick skin; like a pack of wolves, they would wound, bleed and exhaust the beasts before an effective attack was possible. That was a strenuous battle, Ehrendill sweated under the armor as he turned the spear into an extension of his arm. When the last beast finally fell causing the earth to tremble, he stepped forward and released the spear, unsheathed his sword and delivered a deadly blow to the monster's neck. It wasn't easy or beautiful to use the sword as an executioner, but he was not satisfied until he beheaded the beast and displayed his immense and grotesque head as a trophy. It was a moment of glory, the first one. His storm wolves howled in triumph while Dolmbar and Lissambar waited for them.

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